


Stolen Moments

by Lacertae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Sentai Rangers, Banter, Breathplay, Cultist Tekhartha Zenyatta, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Fixation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sentai Genji Shimada, Tentacles, Wall Sex, oral kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 20:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18924634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: *Genji/Zenyatta* Green Sentai's life is completely, utterly fixed. Every moment of his life as a hero is scrutinized, followed and observed. Even as Genji, he has little time for himself. Except... except that once in a while, green Sentai slips away.





	Stolen Moments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Omnicode](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnicode/gifts).



> smut for my dear friendo Nere! hope you like boo!

**Stolen Moments**

 

He emerges from the shadows like he is made of them, or they are made of him.

Green sentai’s eyes, safely hidden behind his helmet, follow the curves and shivers the darkness makes as it squirms on the Cultist’s body, giving it shape and weight, curling around him like a loving embrace. First comes his faceplate, the mass of tentacles wriggling with inner light, optical receptors that shine with an unearthly glow, a green so deep it makes green Sentai’s eyes sting. The polished metal is purple, and the shadows dance on its surface, making it look like every inch of the Cultist’s body is alive. Then come his arms, his shoulders, the hood that covers part of his head, frames him to appear even more imposing, and then the rest of his body.

He steps into sight without a sound, and the room shifts and changes around him, like something else arrived together with the Cultist, something always out of sight, and no matter how much green Sentai’s eyes dart from one corner to another, he catches nothing but glimpses.

Yet, it’s familiar.

Green Sentai swallows when the Cultist’s optical receptors move towards him, and the tentacles around his face still.

“You are already here,” he says, and the murmur has a tinge of surprise.

A little emboldened, a flicker of smug satisfaction at the thought that he managed to catch the Cultist by surprise, green Sentai crosses his arms and puffs out his chest, grinning under his helmet.

The balance shifts again, robbing him of his little victory, when the Cultist takes a step closer and hums –pleased. “Were you so eager to see me?”

He’d splutter, but he cannot deny this –green Sentai lives a life strictly based on clockwork efficiency, where everything follows a schedule, where everything is accounted for, where everything he does is on display for others to see… and not only when he’s wearing this costume as a sentai hero.

The world follows him when he is Green Sentai, but… his family, his _friends_ … follow him when he is just… Genji. The person behind the mask.

This –them meeting secretly every now and then, pushed by desire to be together despite what they do in front of the world… this is not about green Sentai, not really. There’s no schedule, no preparation… nothing except Genji, though hiding still behind his mask, and the Cultist.

Another hum, then a soft, echoing laughter, and the Cultist advances towards him. They are close enough now that if he wanted to, green Sentai could reach out with one hand and touch him, but he doesn’t move, resists his own temptation, prolongs the moment that is still in his control. The Cultist’s optical receptors glow as he blinks, burning brighter for a moment. “I tease, my sentai,” he says, and there is a purr in his tone. Green Sentai feels the fleeting yet overpowering desire to push forwards and seek his throat, where his synth is, press his mouth there to feel the vibration as the Cultist speaks.

As the Cultist murmurs his name.

He swallows.

“You always tease,” he finds himself saying, but his tone is hushed, almost reverent.

He is the only one who is allowed to see the Cultist this close, and it is exhilarating. He can feel the raw power the Cultist has around him like a tingle in the back of his tongue, like a smell that lingers in the air, heavy on his skin, heady and thick.

He wants to chase the sensation with his lips and tongue, but refrains. The anticipation is part of the thrill.

“I do –yet do not misunderstand, for I await these… encounters… as much as _you_ do.”

The shift in tone –the yearning, the thick, heavy desire, are enough to make green Sentai’s mind spin. It is always intoxicating when the Cultist admits their secret dance is something he covets and wants, and maybe it could be a lie, maybe he’s twirling green Sentai –Genji– around his little finger, like a puppet, but…

He chooses to believe that what he feels exist and is returned evenly.

After all, who else could ever be a match for the Cultist if not his rival, his nemesis, the green Sentai ranger? They clash, yet they are attracted to one another.

The thought emboldens him, sends a burst of liquid heat down his back, and he shivers and finally moves.

There is nothing special in the abandoned building they picked for this encounter –it is empty, and dusty, and isolated, lost in a maze of streets and corners and skyscrapers, and surrounded as they are by that, they are truly alone. Green Sentai knows they will not be interrupted, and one finger traces his communication device, shutting it down.

Like this, they are truly alone.

He advances, watches the way the Cultist’s eyes shine brightly, focused sharply on him, stops when they are inches apart, bodies brushing together, and exhales behind his helmet.

“How amusing,” the Cultist murmurs, the pleased undertone in his voice not falling on deaf ears, “every time, you take a little more, you _want_ a little more, _crave_ for something more…”

“How could I not, when you so willingly give it to me?” yet, as always, green Sentai is not the one to erase what little distance is left between them.

There is still something extraordinary alien about the Cultist, about this nemesis of his, about this otherworldly creature he’s fallen into a dance with, that leaves green Sentai feeling almost like he has no control, yet he knows every step of the way that this was his decision as well. He does not hide behind excuses –he wants the Cultist, both on the battlefield and outside.

Leaving the last step to him is just his indulgent need to make sure the Cultist also wants him back.

Even if the Cultist leads this dance, for now, it is proof that he wants it.

And as every time since they started this, the Cultist moves –he pushes into green Sentai’s space abruptly, a flurry of tentacles covering his helmet, pushing it away, prodding, probing… and he lets them, knowing they won’t unmask him fully, never to reveal his identity but just his mouth.

It is a little act of trust, of _faith_ –and it is humbling when he remembers who he offered it to. If he were to have his helmet removed fully, the Cultist would know who he is underneath, would know Genji’s face. Yet, he’s never pushed, never wished to know.

“You look eager,” the Cultist hums, and green Sentai laughs, open and giddy.

“Aren’t you?” he counters, and his only answer is a flare from within the Cultist’s optical receptor lights.

The cool air hits the lower part of his face, but then the tentacles cover his chin, his lips, his cheeks, caressing his skin, rubbing and brushing against him in askance, and he exhales again when a tentacle gently prods at his lips until he parts them.

The Cultist’s body is hot against his own, burning, hands pressed against his chest, fabric and armour clashing and mixing together, and green Sentai’s body burns in answer, the closeness between them as exciting as the wait was just moments before.

He reaches out, gloved fingers travelling up the Cultist’s forearms, seeking sensors he’s mapped out in the past, wanting to see pleasure reflected in those glowing optical receptors.

“I do enjoy our spars, my dear Sentai,” the Cultist sounds almost breathless, for a being who needs no air, and green Sentai would chuckle, if there were no tentacles prodding for entrance at his lips. “But these moments… I enjoy far more.”

“Do you now?” he teases in a murmur, and pushes his tongue out to meet one of the tentacles rubbing against his lips, shivers when the tentacle pushes into it, warm and metallic. “Do you think about doing this while we fight? While you face my companions? Do you think about… me, pushing against you in front of them?”

He feels the Cultist’s body shiver against his own –such a small gesture, yet they are close enough he recognizes it for what it is, and almost moans at the thought. He was simply teasing, but this honest reaction is… so much better.

“I think about it,” he continues, parts his lips, inches forwards to map the tentacles on the Cultist’s faceplate with kisses and tiny licks, and watches as the optical sensor-eyes grow dim and refocus on his face. “I think about kissing you right in front of them. Show them just how much of a real menace you are, the threat you truly pose when you forget yourself underneath me–”

Tentacles slide into his mouth, metal heavy and thick, press onto his tongue and slide against the inner parts of his mouth, and green Sentai sucks on them, swallowing around them as he feels them move in and out, caressing, touching, filling him enough he cannot speak around them, and at the same time the Cultist pushes their groins together, grinds against him slowly, hands still splayed on his chest.

He gasps, softly, and arches his back into the Cultist’s, matching his teasing movements with his own.

“As if it would not be you falling at my mercy, sentai,” the Cultist answers, synth rough. “with your darling companions unable to do anything except watch as I… ravish you.”

Green Sentai makes another soft sound –on the edge of desperate– because the outcome doesn’t matter, the image of revealing this to his friends sends a shock of anticipation down his spine like a forbidden desire.

He does not truly want to –not yet, not when the Cultist himself still tethers on the other side, not truly an enemy yet not an ally, not a friend– but the thought still entices him. Something that green Sentai keeps hidden from them, a secret, one that is his own only.

Like the Cultist is his and no one else’s.

Like he is the Cultist’s too.

As long as he has this.

He takes a step backwards, angles himself until he finds purchase on a drawer, finds his back hitting a wall, and drags the Cultist with him. Pressed between the wall and his lover, green Sentai feels another shiver of pleasure curl up his spine.

“Mine,” the Cultist murmurs, and green Sentai answers with a moan around those tentacles still rubbing against his tongue, mimicking a kiss, many kisses, and he swallows and moves his tongue against their slippery lengths.

He loves the feeling of them, metallic and smooth, the bumps of their servos and the sensors that register temperature and are so sensitive, enough that even rubbing his tongue on them sends little shivers of pleasure through the Cultist.

He’s learned how to use this, how to make him almost feral with want with simply _this_ , how to make him take more and more by giving him all he wants.

The tentacles move in and out and he chases them, jaw almost hurting as he takes a fourth inside and it stretches his mouth obscenely, a line of drool dribbling from the side and down his chin, but he pays no attention to it, lost in the sensation.

Just the thought of them filling his mouth makes him heady –he likes their weight, the feeling of them taking him so deep they slide into the back of his throat, and he revels in the fact that he has no gag reflex, swallows around them, and wonders how it would feel to do the same while kneeling in front of the Cultist, use his mouth on the tentacle he hides underneath his modesty panel, take as much of it as he can and listen to the choked, helpless sounds coming from his synth as he sucks on it and drags pleasure out of him.

He wonders how it would feel, if the Cultist tugged at his hair and fucked into his mouth, and he shivers, reflexively swallowing around his mouth tentacles.

One could think kneeling for the enemy would make him the loser, but the chance to lose himself, mouth sealed around the Cultist’s tentacled cock, fills him with nervous desire –it would never be a loss, but only a victory, and he would make sure the Cultist knew it, as well.

“Mind wandering, sentai?” the Cultist purrs into his ear, and another tentacle pushes past his lips.

He’s so full already, but green Sentai is greedy, and the slight pain of his stretched lips is nothing to the feeling of tentacles taking his mouth again, and again.

“Hnn–”

With a strangled gasp, he chases one tentacle that slips out, breathing messily through his nose, curls his tongue around the biggest tentacle, drags his teeth down every ridge and hitch of metal, rubs with his lips and tongue at the tiny sensors covering the tentacles, and feels victorious when he watches the Cultist’s optical receptors flicker and dim.

Not close enough to moan, but green Sentai has always been the louder one –it only makes the challenge worth it.

The Cultist grinds into him a little harder, and green Sentai feels and hears his modesty panel slide away. Only clothes separate him from his prize, and he hurries to unlatch his own  armour, the panel moving out of the way so his own cock is proudly on display, already half hard.

Unaffected by modesty, green Sentai parts his thighs, puts himself on display, eager to be touched, even as the Cultist moves away from him, tentacles leaving his mouth, to stare.

He knows he offers an enticing sight –lips already swollen, cheeks red, cock ready and growing harder the more he thinks about taking those tentacles in his mouth again– and knows the Cultist cannot resist. He never could.

“They would hate this,” the Cultist says, but rather than scathing, his tone is almost wondering, hushed. Pleased. “That I could make you like this. They would think you’d been taken by the Iris, forced to bare himself to me in such a way through mind control –that you would be so… hard… for your enemy.”

“Or they would think me a fool, offering myself as a prize to seduce the enemy into changing sides,” he replies, and though the Cultist cannot see his eyes, he can still see his lips, twisted into a feral grin. “One would think the offer has value.”

One hand shoves him against the wall, hard, then travels slowly a path down his front and the Cultist is on him again, hungry, pushing, tentacles spilling once again into his awaiting lips as he groans in pleasure and happily receives them back.

Green Sentai juts his cock towards the Cultist, trying to ask for a touch when his mouth is getting ravaged without allowing him respite, and with a small, hungry sound, the Cultist gives him what he’s asking for.

His hand is warm, firm, and the slide of metal on his cock is heavenly. Fingers grip the base, his palm presses against the underside, and then the Cultist runs his fingers up the length to the tip, slowly, as green Sentai’s pleased groan is muffled by a sharp thrust of the tentacles in his mouth.

Pleasure rocks inside him as the Cultist continues to palm and rub at his cock, and it is almost embarrassing how quickly he gets hard.

Green Sentai thinks about how it would feel, if instead of a hand, he had those face tentacles on his cock, worshipping him as he sits on the Cultist’s face, forces him to please him like this, and his cock _twitches_ in the Cultist’s hold, a little dribble of precum sliding down the tip, only to be smeared away by a curious thumb.

The Cultist is giving him enough to work with, but green Sentai wants to touch, too, and he tugs him closer. He runs his fingers down the Cultist’s sides, slips under his fluttery clothes, seeks sensors that he can’t see and wires he can twist, and–

With a soft, throaty moan, the Cultist thrusts into his thigh, rubbing himself against it as he plunges his tentacles as deep as they can go in his throat, blocking his airways for one short, fleeting moment.

Green Sentai tries to gasp, throat and mouth full, his cock burning as the hand around it clenches and tugs, feels the start of an orgasm already building up and chokes on the pleasure, head hazy, hands slipping from the wires to hold onto the Cultist’s body…

The tentacles retreat and leave his mouth and suddenly he can breathe again, and cough, swallowing saliva and the prickle of tears in his eyes, and he’s still shivering as he feels the Cultist continue to grind into his thigh.

“Mischievous,” the Cultist purrs, and his tentacles caress green Sentai’s cheeks, his swollen lips, and trail upwards to wipe away a lone tear. “Do you like to be _choked_ , sentai?”

“O-only on things I can… swallow,” he replies, and his mouth seeks the tentacles again, tongue flicking to trace the length of the closest one, sucking on the tip as it returns to fuck into his mouth, languidly. The rest allow him to breathe, though, even if he’s gasping and wants them back.

“What a timing to find out,” the Cultist teases, yet seems more mindful, most tentacles remaining outside, holding his face still as he plunges two back inside, sliding them together in a parody of a cock. “You _do_ like using your mouth.”

Green Sentai grunts, the moans now coming out of him with every breath, and that is yet another thing he cannot deny –the desire to slam the Cultist into the wall and kneel to explore is stronger than ever, and the idea of choking as he takes his cock deep in his throat makes him feel lightheaded with want.

The hand on his cock continues to work on him, and through the pleasure that rocks into him, green Sentai realises he’s stopped reciprocating again.

That won’t do.

He pushes forwards, startling the Cultist, grabs him by his hip and twirls them around, and now the Cultist is the one against the wall. The hood has slipped from his head, bunched up around his neck, and green Sentai finds the sight pleasing –it makes the Cultist look ruffled, like his control has slipped.

He likes that just as much as he likes him in charge. He will have the Cultist any way he can.

They stare at one another in silence, green Sentai’s face still trapped by the Cultist’s tentacles, then– the Cultist shakes in a small, amused laughter. The sound is almost soft, like the chime of bells that carry a hollow echo behind them, and green Sentai feels the vibration through the tentacles holding his face, eyes wide behind his helmet.

The Cultist laughing is rare, and because of that, it is just the more alluring, and it makes him hard enough that he thrusts against his crotch, humping the Cultist with a loud, rumbly grunt.

“My,” the Cultist murmurs, and his hands travel to replace the tentacles holding his face. “Do you want me so badly, sentai?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he says, harsh, honest, and he leans over to kiss the edge of the Cultist’s faceplate, hungry, demanding, travels from the base of his tentacles to the tip, running lips and tongue on them before taking one in his mouth again and sucking on it. He holds the Cultist by his hips and thrusts into him, fingers fumbling as he tugs his clothes away almost harshly, aching to align them together, and when his hand finds his prize, the Cultist’s tentacle cock wraps around his wrist and the Cultist arches his back into him with a hum.

He palms the slippery, prosthetic cock, from the thick base to the thinner, wriggling tip, groans at the feeling of it wriggling in his grip, mouths more of the tentacle against his lips and goes down on it, licking and sucking, and since he has another hand, he uses it to push the Cultist’s legs open, slides it on the underneath of his metallic thigh, reaches lower, one finger slipping as it finds the edge of the plush, wet valve just hiding there, feels the soft, welcoming stretch of it, the glowing nub right at the tip, his finger massaging its curve.

“ _Sentai_.” The Cultist jolts, optical receptors flashing and failing, he chases the touch for a moment, forgetting himself, then stops and purrs, dangerous, low and smug, and the tentacles in his mouth suddenly thrust down his throat, and a third one joins them, cutting off his air again. Green Sentai splutters, the hand caressing the edge of the Cultist’s valve faltering, the other still trapped in the prosthetic cock’s grip. “You have not _earned_ that yet.”

And with another flip, green Sentai’s back slams into the wall again, and the Cultist presses down on him, demanding, heavy, _intoxicating_.

His airways still blocked, green Sentai feels his lungs burn, feels the Cultist rub himself against his cock, slow, deliberate, sending little shocks of pleasure down his frame, eyes fluttering close as he chokes on it and gasps without a sound, arching his back, fingers twitching–

The tentacles move away, freeing his throat and pooling on the skin of his throat, wet and warm, and green Sentai swallows, shudders and coughs as his cock twitches, precum smeared on its tip as he thrusts into the Cultist’s thigh, pleasure and a light twinge of pain mixing together inside his guts.

“Hnnnngh–” green Sentai wheezes when the Cultist’s cock slides away from his hand and their hips press together, he feels the wetness of the Cultist’s artificial lubrication as the tentacle-shaped cock slides messily all over his groin, finding his hard cock and pressing against it, the  tip curling around it, dripping more lubrication all over it.

The Cultist says nothing more, the darker tinge of his forehead array LED as it flutters and fades enough to show he’s nearing his own limit –he wants, so he _takes_.

Green Sentai curses and opens his mouth, invites the tentacles to fuck into it again, and thrusts his hips, his cock sliding into the warm, slack hold of the Cultist’s tentacle, shuddering when pleasure rocks into him.

He feels the tip of the prosthetic cock slide under his own cock, behind his balls, trail a little lower, barely grazing against his hole, rubbing, teasing, and he clenches his muscles and bites down on the tentacles in his mouth, watching as the Cultist seizes, steam coming out from the vents on his shoulders, the air around them hot and humid.

“Ah–ha,” he rasps out, tongue following one of the tentacles as they slip out of his mouth, swollen and sensitive lips glistening with saliva, “not earned that yet, either.”

The Cultist laughs –low, startled and amused, and his fingers trails up until he’s curling his hand around green Sentai’s neck, thumb caressing its side.

“How amusing,” he murmurs, but his cock retreats, just a bit, leaving green Sentai feeling on the edge, and a little bit disappointed–

The disappointment doesn’t last when the Cultist moves again, undulating his hips and moving against him, the hand that isn’t curled around his throat, barely pressing on it, latching on his hip, keeping him still.

The pressure around his cock tightens then lessens, warm and hot, and green Sentai moves in rhythm with it, rutting against the Cultist and grunting at the pleasure that takes hold of him, his mind hazy.

He wants more, craves more like a man abandoned in the desert, wants to eat and drink out of the Cultist’s body until he’s sated and full, wants to know the name hiding behind the creature, wants to scream it loudly, wants to hear his own name –not Sentai, but _Genji_ – murmured out in that hot, silky tone, chanted like a prayer and leaving no other thought in the Cultist’s mind, he…

“Hnnn–”

He thinks about that hot, inviting clutch hiding just below the Cultist’s cock, how good it would feel to fuck into it, lap that nub until the Cultist whines loud and with abandon above him, how good it would feel to map it with his fingers, stretch it as far as it can go, test how much he can stuff in it, he wants to feel the tentacles prepare him, stretch him and fill him up and abuse his prostate, he wants to ride on the Cultist’s tentacle cock until  he comes all over them both, wants the Cultist to fuck him into the wall until their hero and villain identities blur and disappear, he wants to turn them around and take the Cultist so hard he won’t be able to stand, until green Sentai can pick him up and spear him on his cock like he was always intended to be, he wants–

…so much…

The tentacles slide out of his mouth and he gasps, whines and coughs, pushing his throat into the Cultist’s fingers, feeling them press down a little on his throat, not enough to cut his air off, just enough to feel it, and he feels lightheaded, breathless, the pleasure bubbling up his body like a wave he can’t deny, but–

His free hand, the one that isn’t holding on the Cultist’s shoulder like an anchor, slides down their bodies and wraps messily around their intertwined cocks.

Fingers slip, the lubrication and slick coming from the tentacle dick enough to make it hard to keep his grip on them, but he still tries, fingers reaching for the base of the Cultist’s cock, pressing hard against the sensors there, fighting the urge to reach for the glowing nub underneath and barely managing.

“You feeling it, Cultist?” he grits out, and it surprises him how rough and dry his voice is.

The Cultist stutters, grunts and pushes into his touch, angles his hips so that the tip of green Sentai’s fingers bump into his nub, and steam gushes out of his vents with a loud, startled hiss.

They grind and press into each other like animals, faces so close he can see the glow of the Cultist’s otherworldly optical receptors like an afterimage when his eyes flutter shut.

The pleasure is a constant, the closeness only making him feel more, but it’s never enough, he wants to feel the Cultist’s metal against his naked skin and knows it’s a futile thought but he wishes, he wants, he…

“Yes,” the answer is just as shaky as green Sentai himself is, and he groans, the idea of the Cultist so far gone in his own pleasure that he forgets himself.

He’s so hot, he knows he won’t last, and his fingers slide clumsily as he tries to tug the Cultist down with him, wanting to watch him come, wanting to feel his slick stain his sentai suit, wanting to  come all over the Cultist’s clothes, he needs it, he–

The Cultist’s cock seizes around his own, the grip tight enough to hurt, their hips pushing into one another with sharp, rough thrusts, and green Sentai moans when he feels his guts tighten, pleasure spreading like heat through him and he throws his head back, mouth open wide, only to have it taken once again, tentacles swarming in, pulsating and undulating, pressing into his tongue, curling around it, sliding inside, demanding, more…

“Nnnnh–”

They’re so close, bodies mashed together, grinding and tugging, demanding more, and green Sentai tugs the Cultist even closer, angry, bites on the tentacles filling his mouth, his hand jacking both himself and the Cultist’s cock, his fingers slipping as they run from tip to base then daring a little further, one finger bumping into the Cultist’s nub, and the Cultist _moans_ , loud and hungry, his own hand joining green Sentai’s, their fingers wrapped together, green Sentai feeling the hand hesitate before guiding him lower, to rub that nub that aches and swells so good, seeking friction.

They look at one another for a second, caught mid-act, the intensity of those optical receptors that feel like they are gazing right through him, through his mask, to the Genji behind the green Sentai, and green Sentai chokes and gasps and follows the hand until he feels the curve of the Cultist’s nub under his finger.

He does not go farther, there is no permission, but even this much tells him that the desperation he feels, the pleasure, is mirrored in the Cultist, and he wants so much _more_.

Pleasure rocks into him hard, but he still touches the Cultist –slow, steady, coaxing and teasing even when they’re both so close, the lower curve of his tentacle cock slotting perfectly in the space between green Sentai’s thumb and index, where he can press against a hidden sensor there and he does, rubs and caresses and coaxes more tiny shudders from him, and–

The Cultist comes first, and green Sentai watches with his eyes wide, throat so full his mouth aches.

He watches, enraptured, as the unearthly glow stutters and deepens, grows more intense, the green fading into a light that is almost… golden, but not quite, he feels the Cultist’s tentacle squeeze around his cock so hard he whines, feels a gush of slick against his hand, against his clothes, feels him coming like a tide, violent and overwhelming like everything about the Cultist is, and he barely has the time to enjoy the view that he’s there, he’s _coming_ , eyes falling shut as he gasps and makes a whiny noise deep in his throat, riding the pleasure until his cock aches and his lungs burn and he’s pushing into the Cultist, swallowing around his tentacles, feeling the Cultist shudder and cling to him.

When the tide recedes, green Sentai is winded and spent, body lethargic and tingling.

The Cultist is still pressed against him, and as he shifts back, shoulders straightening, the tentacles leave his mouth slowly, caressing his cheeks on the way out, a parody of a soft gesture that makes him almost ache.

As the tentacle prosthetic unwraps itself from around his spent cock, he feels cold and aching, oversensitive, and watches the mess they’ve made of one another with wide eyes.

“Not how you would have spent your evening, a year ago,” the Cultist murmurs, something off with his voice.

This closeness makes him vulnerable, but it’s a nice exchange –green Sentai is vulnerable as well, and together, it makes sense.

It’s not like he would do this with anyone else. It’s not like anyone gets a rise out of him like the Cultist does.

“How I’d spend every night now, though,” he says. His throat aches a little now, his lips feel heavy, and they’re probably bruised.

He’ll just explain it out as a fistfight with a villain… wouldn’t be the first time.

“My, what an endorsement.” The Cultist places both hands at the sides of green Sentai’s head, looking for all intents and purposes dangerous and demanding –yet, to his eyes, he simply looks…

“Still of a mind to do this in front of your team, sentai?” the Cultist teases, a grin to his voice. “That would be… a shock.”

Green Sentai feels a jolt of anticipation inside him, and it might be the afterglow, the small shivers he still has as he stares at the Cultist’s faceplate, but rather than denial, all he feels is…

“Yeah,” he murmurs, and his lips twitch upwards into a cheeky grin. “Bet they’d like seeing you on all four, taking me in, your valve stretched around my cock, moaning for it. Maybe I could fuck some goodness into you, huh?”

There is a shift, subtle, and the Cultist appears to gather himself together. The green glow of his optical receptors, that had faded slightly into golden, returns to its normal colour. Green Sentai idly wonders, as he watches the Cultist shift away from him, if it is just pleasure dragging it out, or something else entirely.

“Hmmm. I would think it to be easier if I were to… debauch you instead. Have them see just how desperate you are for my touch, have them think… you are the one being turned, hmm?” and the voice drops an octave, turns sensual, a touch darker. “I could… arrange it, sentai.”

“Really?” he jokes back, still grinning. The Cultist is pushing, but he doesn’t mind. He entertains the thought of revealing this, even though he knows neither of them is ready, and it feels… good. Like a goal. “Would put up a fight. You know, not to make things… easy for you.”

He reaches out, catches one of the tentacles around the Cultist’s face, and caresses its length, tugs it to his lips and mouths at it, as sensual as he can when his lips feel so swollen and _ache_.

The Cultist stutters –a fraction of a second of weakness that green Sentai appreciates– then he moves away, and green Sentai can see the moment he retreats, becoming once again the ‘villain’ he’s known for so long.

“Perhaps,” he says, and as he takes a step back, shadows curl around his feet, tugging at him. “The challenge is the fun part, sentai. Whether I win, and you are seduced by my side… or…” and with the glowing eyes the last thing green Sentai sees before the Cultist is consumed by darkness and disappears, his powers taking him away from sight, he is gone, his words lingering in the sudden silence.

“… or I get to save you,” he tells the empty air.

With a grin, green Sentai tugs a tissue from his back pocket and tries to clean himself up.

No reason to make his friends more suspicious. Not yet.

There’s still a lot to do, to get the Cultist secured at his side. Until then, he can look forwards to many more stolen moments like these.

 


End file.
